


Sweetheart

by SinpaiCasanova (Bladerunnerblue)



Category: Blade Runner (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: A.I. companion Bucky, Alternate Universe - Blade Runner Fusion, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Androids, Bucky Barnes Returns, Canon Divergence - No Hydra Takeover, Canon-Typical Violence, Cybernetics, Cyberpunk, Cybersex, Defamation of Character, Depression, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Isolation, Loneliness, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Off-screen Relationship(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Resurrection, Sexual Content, Sort Of, Steve Needs a Hug, Stream of Consciousness, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-16 06:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21503146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bladerunnerblue/pseuds/SinpaiCasanova
Summary: Steve Rogers has lived to the ripe age of 131 when the year 2049 rolls around. Much to Erskine's speculation, the serum that enables him to perform superhuman feats has also stopped him from aging.Over the years, he's had to watch as those he cares about grow old and pass away. Bucky is long since dead and has been since 1945.  He still works for SHIELD, leading missions to keep the world safe for those that need it most. His life still has purpose, and he's thankful for that, but he's lonely. Has been for years.It's only when Stark Industries rolls out its newest A.I. companion that Steve finally feels that yawning chasm of isolation begin to close.The bot's name is Sweetheart, a male A.I. hologram that conforms to any image its user wants it to be. It also bears a striking resemblance to Bucky Barnes.Over time, the bot becomes more and more like the Bucky of his dreams, and now, with the help of an emanator that gives Sweetheart the gift of touch, the line between fantasy and reality becomes obscured.He has Bucky back, but at what cost?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Morgan Stark/Niander Wallace, Riley/Sam Wilson
Comments: 42
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back on my bullshit, crying over Blade Runner again. But what else is new.

The first time Steve noticed it, loitering patiently against the side of an apartment complex he passes by daily, his heart–which has been consistently steady and calm since that fateful day in 1943– nearly stops.

There's nothing particularly special about the day it happens, and nothing cataclysmic or world-ending occurs because of it, even though Steve's entire universe has been flipped off its axis and thrown out into the cold void of despair within the span of a few agonizing seconds.

It's just a normal day, like every other he's endured in his long, lonely, hundred and thirty-one years on this earth.

It's raining, half past midnight on a Thursday in March, in the year 2049. And while it's difficult enough for him to come to terms with the fact that he's lived so long without gaining a single wrinkle on his perfect face or finding a stray strand of silver in his perpetually blonde head of hair, it's another thing entirely to see how much New York–his home– has changed over the infinite years he's been around.

It rains almost constantly now, and the weather is mostly bleak with grey skies since the ozone layer depleted and mankind had to create an artificial barrier to protect the earth from the sun's radiation and heat some forty-odd years prior.

Then, of course, there was the famine that nearly killed off half the population in 2014, the protein farms Stark Industries rolled out that saved the starving planet in 2015, and the colonization of Mars in 2020–because living off-world is now a thing that you can do, if you have the funds for it. 

The technological advancements in this new century are seemingly limitless, paving the way for a better life for those that could afford it, while the desolate that lived outside of the cities barely scraped by. And despite Steve's contribution to the world–saving it time and time again without complaint–he can hardly afford the shitty apartment he calls home in the seediest part of Brooklyn. 

Of course, Tony Stark offered multiple times to put him up in Stark Tower before his untimely death in 2023, but Steve always refused.

His apartment may be a shit hole and the neighborhood filled with low-lives and riff-raff who would rob him blind if they stood a chance at succeeding in such an endeavor, but it also reminds him of where he came from.

It may not be the place he shared with Bucky all those years ago, but it's close enough, and that's all that matters. 

He never would have been comfortable living in Tony's ritzy complex, but it was nice to know he had someone who cared enough to ask.

It's strange for him to think that the son of Howard Stark _–his friend–_ shaped the century into what it is now. Stark's influence is felt everywhere, plastered on every building face, billboard, and street corner in the city, shouting to the heavens that Anthony Edward Stark was mankind's savior in more ways than one.

And that was another thing that's changed since Steve woke up in 2009, disoriented and terrified, grief-stricken and lost in the raging river of time that swept away everything and everyone he ever knew. Advertisements are now targeted– interactive with the sole purpose of gaining your patronage by any means necessary. They're flashy and larger than life, covering the entire side of skyscrapers in motion-activated holograms that lie in wait for some unsuspecting fool to stop and stare at them.

And this particular one is no different than the rest. Only that for Steve, it _is_ different. 

Because it's Bucky.

He stands on a sparsely populated bridge in Brooklyn–wool coat soaked through with rain, healing cuts and bruises on his face from his last successful SHIELD mission a day or two ago–and stares at the side of a high-rise structure with clogged lungs and a strangled heart.

Belatedly, he knows he's in a state of shock, knows he won't move from where his feet are planted on the sidewalk even though the longer he stays, the higher the chance the form on the building will notice his presence and seek him out like a shark chasing a wounded seal.

And it does, after less than thirty seconds.

The telltale jingle of Stark Industries plays– the first six notes of Peter and the Wolf in a cheerful, colorful tone–and the vast form that takes up the entire side of the building turns its eyes on him.

Grey eyes.

Bucky's eyes.

Steve's lungs seize up in his chest and he can't fucking _breathe._

It can't be–it's not possible.

But it is.

"Hello, handsome," the hologram greets, voice silky smooth and dripping with honey, just as it's made to be. Like catching flies in liquid sugar, that voice hooks and draws at the very basest of impulses, manipulating its prey quite effortlessly, and Steve is faring no better than the rest. 

He doesn't move as the figure approaches, striding forth slow and sultry; preening for Steve like it knows how gorgeous its image is to him. It even _sounds_ like Bucky; tone all cocksure pride and exquisitely Brooklyn, slightly raspy from the Luckies he smokes out on the fire escape after a long shift at the docks.

Steve can almost hear the wind against their curtains, the shouts from the street below, Bucky's off-tune humming to a song he'd heard on the radio– 

"What a day, hm?" It suddenly speaks again, jarring Steve from his swirling thoughts.

It looks around, taking in Steve's battered face and the rain that shimmers off its flickering form like a mirage in the desert. There's not a stitch of clothing on it, proudly displaying its worth to the public in smooth, creamy shades tan skin, dark, shoulder-length hair, and deep-set grey eyes that reach down into Steve's withered soul and _tug_ until it rips against its pull like cheap fabric.

It's him–it's _Bucky_ , he thinks for a moment, then remembers that it's not and never will be. Bucky's been dead for a century and he knows this. But it's just been so damn long since he's laid eyes on that sweet face that haunts his dreams every single night, and It's almost too much for him to bear, knowing that Bucky's image is now used to sell companion bots to lonely strangers like him.

No. It _is_ too much to bear.

No one will ever know who that face really was, who they used to be or what they meant to Steve. They'll never know how good a dancer Bucky was, how he excelled at anything he set his mind to, how he cried with elation when Steve kissed him for the very first time.

They were just two kids lost in each other, trying to make a life together in a time when no one wanted to see people like them happy and flourishing, flaunting their love for all to see.

This projection–this... _mockery_ of everything Steve holds dear, is not the man who sat by his bedside when he was sick, singing or reading to him when he was bedridden for days. This isn't the man who confessed he loved Steve at seventeen, terrified that he'd be rejected by the one person he couldn't live without.

It's just a facade.

But still, his heart aches for Bucky, and as if it were a prayer answered, there he is, meticulously shaped from streams of light, peering down at Steve like a fool in love because that's what Steve wants it to be.

Seeing the opening it needs, the form wearing the face of the man he loves crouches down to stare directly at Steve, smiling at him the same way Bucky used to when he was trying to get his way.

He knows what the end goal is here. He knows what the figure wants, and Steve, against his better judgment, wants to give it everything he has.

As if sensing Steve's crumbling resolve, the figure goes straight for the metaphorical gold, softening its expression to something sympathetic and kind. It's cruel and tasteless, but it works.

"You look lonely," It says, pouting a little as if the mere notion of this is ungraspable. It's not wrong. Steve's been alone for a very long time. 

Its voice lowers to a whisper, and Steve fights not to sob, but it's a losing battle when this figure knows just where to strike. Which parts of Steve are the softest. _"I can fix that."_

 _You're not him,_ he wants to say, but his voice catches in his throat on the way out, morphing into _"I miss you,"_ because he does. 

That'll always be true.

It smiles sweetly, reaching out as if to brush away the tears on Steve's cheeks. "You don't have to, baby. You know where to find me."

And just like that, the figure straightens and turns back to the building its advertisement is featured on.

 _"Sweetheart is anything you want him to be,"_ A smooth, feminine voice proclaims when the figure retakes its place under the Stark Industries logo. Steve sighs. Of course it would be named Sweetheart. That was Bucky's name for him, after all. _"Sweetheart goes anywhere you want him to go."_

This must be their new bot, the promised male companion Stark Industries announced last month to accompany their two successful females: Joi and Luv. Why they'd chosen to model it after Bucky Barnes, fallen hero and Howling Commando from the 1940s is beyond him, but this era has a weird way of romanticizing the great depression that he's nauseatingly familiar with by now.

Bucky was always a looker, riveling folks like James Dean or Paul Newman with his boyish good looks and devilish charm. Perhaps that was why they used him instead of those aforementioned figures, since Bucky's name had fallen into obscurity shortly after his death; overshadowed by Steve's own, as it turns out. 

He wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand hastily, embarrassed that he'd fallen victim to one of Stark's intelligent ploys to gain his business. 

_"A new life awaits you in the Off-world colonies. The chance to begin again in a golden land of opportunity and adventure. Packages start at–"_ echoes behind him as he walks away, leaving Bucky's image behind. 

The city is awash in colorful lights and voices, softly booming in the distance to publicize this or that. Hover cars zip by above him, the streets filled with people below–dressed in leathers and fabric with tech stuffed in them, and he'd like to say that he's used to it by now, but seeing it still takes him by surprise sometimes.

Especially now, when the ghost of Bucky Barnes is still whispering in his ear, compelling him to seek him out with that buttery-smooth voice of his, and Steve is admittedly weakened by it.

He knows where to go to find him–the real Bucky who'd lost his life in the alps–but his body isn't there. 

There's no memorial among the ice and rocks that took Bucky from him, and the one that's erected at SHIELD is just a name among others that have fallen in the line of duty. Easily missed. Essentially invisible to those that aren't looking for it.

But it's not sufficient, anymore, to rely on his memory of Bucky to get him through the day when he has nothing else.

The old photos of Bucky that fill his apartment aren't enough to keep the loneliness at bay, the drawings of him that burst from his long-abandoned sketchbooks aren't enough, and burying himself in his work so he doesn't have to think about everything he's lost just isn't fucking _enough._

He's almost a ghost himself in the way he floats by, keeping his head down and his heart closed off to any who would dare ask to see it. But he wants _more._ More than just this bleakness in perpetuity.

He wanders the streets until he reaches his apartment, unconcerned about the state of his clothing or the way the people loitering in the mouth of the alleyway stare at him as he climbs the cracked cement stairs.

There's shouting and fighting and sounds of unrest lingering in the hallways, desolates that linger in corridors to do business with unsavory characters at all hours of the night, every night.

The old Vietnamese woman that lives across the hall from his apartment is cursing at him from her doorway, and there's the defiled image of his shield spray-painted on his front door; turning the star in the center into the Kraken of Hydra.

He's aware of how he's viewed by the public now. A fascist. A devil. A mouthpiece for American propaganda and superiority. 

The message of Captain America has gotten lost and muddied over time, and Steve's come to terms with that, but it just serves to isolate him from these people even more, and he's not sure how much more of this he can take.

Steve closes the door behind him, doesn't bother locking it, and hangs up his soaked coat on the hook in the entryway.

He listens to the silence inside his small apartment, the hate and pain muffled just outside of it, and weeps.

He never asked to be here. He never wanted to be this far away from Bucky–who was left in the twentieth century along with the rest of his past–and he's so alone that he can't even remember the last time he was touched out of kindness, or spoken to without an agenda behind it.

But this is his life now. 

Alone in a new century without a soul that cares, living in a sparsely lived in, run-down apartment with rickety old furniture for company and enough trauma and pain to last two lifetimes.

Steve knows he shouldn't, knows better than to give in to the fantasy of having Bucky back–or even just to have someone to talk to when he gets home at night–but he's desperate for companionship. 

It almost doesn't matter that his entire savings will go towards this pathetic attempt at healing, or that he'll essentially be buying a sentient projector that'll lie to his face in any way he wants it to.

He saw Bucky for the first time in a hundred years, and it only served to remind him that he doesn't belong here. That he's been deserted, isolated, and disconnected from society.

He yearns for someone to care. He doesn't want to be alone like this for the rest of his miserable existence, he wants–he _needs–_

 _"You know where to find me,"_ echoes in his mind, and he knows what he's going to do now. Regardless of how crazy it is or how much his conscience will remind him that it's all a lie and that it'll never be what he wants it to be. 

He's going to do this.

He's been told that it's unwise to open old wounds–bleeding scars that never properly healed–but he wants to, because it's Bucky, and Bucky is all he's ever wanted in this world.

Wherever Bucky exists–and in whatever form he exists–is where Steve's soul dwells, and it's time for him to finally come home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block is a hell of a thing

He sits and contemplates the weight of his decision, what diving head-first into this ocean of the unknown will ultimately bring him in the end. While it’s true that bringing home a companion bot dressed in the skin of his former lover drops Steve down to an unfathomable new low, he also can’t deny that at this point in his life, he just doesn’t give a shit.

He hasn’t cared about his image since the campaign that labeled Captain America as something less than human launched in early 2023, and those that used to adore him now sneered at him on the streets, throwing garbage and spitting curses at him as he passed by with his eyes downcast and his head hung low.

He’s not sure why it started or what he did to even spur on such animosity toward him, but it happened and damn near happened overnight, and now Steve is no better than the Replicants he hunts down on SHIELD’s orders, _‘retiring’_ them just for wanting a life outside of slavery to mankind.

Perhaps that’s why he’s hated so vehemently. Society seems to look at him as if he were a Replicant himself; an inhuman abomination that doesn’t belong. And perhaps he is. Steve shares quite a few traits with the ones he kills for a living, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed by the public either, unfortunately.

The Replicants Steve is sent out to destroy were a failed experiment initiated by Hammer Industries, who’d partnered with Tyrell Corp in late 2008 in an attempt to recreate an entity of Steve’s caliber. They were bioengineered beings virtually identical to humans, but possessed superior strength, speed, resilience, agility, and intelligence, which made them prime candidates for high-intensity labor, often against their will.

It’s these beings that paved the way for off-world colonization and were largely responsible for much of humanity's survival during the global famine, as it was their kind that worked the protein farms they still use today. But rather than celebrate them for their contribution to the advancement of mankind, society shunned them, calling for their immediate extinction when a few Nexus-8 models went rogue in 2022.

Perhaps Steve Rogers is the world’s first Replicant; something unnatural masquerading as human, made for a singular purpose with no real use in the world outside of it.

It’s a thought that keeps him awake at night, more so than the nightmares of his youth ever did. He’s a weapon made for warfare, longing for a sign that told him he was meant for more than this, that he was more than just the instrument of death they created him to be. But, that's merely a fantasy that will never come to pass, isn't it?

Steve knows what he is and what he is not, and what he’s not and never will be is a person that deserves better than this. He’ll never have a chance to redeem the life that was stolen from him all those years ago. All he can do is his best, and sometimes that means just surviving.

So with that thought in mind, he silently makes his way out into the hallway a little after five, when daybreak is just a whisper away and most of the apartment's residents have either left the building or fallen asleep.

There's no one around to judge him at this hour, and even if there were Steve would hardly be offended by it. Not after everything he's gone through that brought him to this juncture in his life; spending his entire life-savings on a holographic companion because he doesn't have one made of flesh and blood and hasn't for some time now. 

It’s been a little more than a century since he’d last spoken to Bucky, not counting those one-sided conversations he has with Bucky’s ghost when the hour is late and his heart is far too mangled with grief to allow him to sleep, and he knows that the person he'll get from this foolish endeavor isn’t actually the same person that sacrificed himself for Steve in 1945, but it’s close enough that Steve can pretend it is, and that’s all he can force himself to care about right now.

In his heart he's so close to home, and yet, so very far away.

At the end of the hall is a battered old electronic kiosk the tenants use for buying pretty much anything and everything they could ever need. Basically, if you can think of it, you can get it with a few taps of your finger on a holographic screen. 

Some of the nicer buildings in Manhattan have them built into the wall of each flat, which is nice if you don't want your neighbor breathing down your neck when you're just trying to buy toilet paper, but the seedier parts of the city have just one unit per floor in a complex that houses roughly ten thousand people, so everyone is fighting for their chance to use it and sometimes things can get pretty ugly.

In what might be a generous turn of luck for Steve, the kiosk he’ll use to buy the synthetic version of his long lost lover is completely abandoned. 

He gently taps the projector screen to wake it up, gritting his teeth at the loud grinding noise the outdated system spews out in lieu of start-up tone. 

_“Hello, Captain Rogers. What can I help you with today?”_ The automated voice of a woman asks, her palm-sized 3D image smiling up at Steve, patiently waiting to serve him in any way he desires.

Her skin is tinged pink from a few of the busted up projector lights inside of the kiosk, eyes blackened and her short hair tinted blue. She’s pretty, modeled after Tony’s daughter, Morgan, who just so happens to run Stark Industries alongside her new husband, Niander Wallace.

Steve hasn’t actually seen Morgan in as long as her father’s been dead, and he wouldn’t know what to say to her if he ever did. The relationship he had with Tony was a complex and complicated one, and never in his life did he think that he’d ever come close to calling Tony a friend. But as fate would have it, they ended up becoming quite close, just not so close as to warrant a family-type bond. 

To Morgan, Steve is just a stranger her father once knew. Nothing more, nothing less.

Steve pushes the thought away and sighs, tapping on the logo for Stark Industries; his spine stiffening at the familiar little jingle he hears once the page flickers to life before him. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for since the companion bots are SI’s most popular product, and with a few taps of his finger, he’s left staring at a life-like model of Sweetheart, completely nude just as Steve saw him once before on the bridge, smiling confidently up at him as if he already knows he’ll belong to Steve.

Below Sweetheart's now rotating image, there's a short description of the product that Steve just can’t stop himself reading, despite how it makes something hot and ugly curl up inside his gut. 

> _Everything you want to see. Anything you want to hear._
> 
> _Portrayed as a charming, flawlessly beautiful, petite young man, Sweetheart is the only companion you'll ever need. Though his original form is displayed as an Irish-American Brooklynite, the specifics of his features such as eye color, hair color, and apparel are customizable per his user's preferences. Sweetheart also has a variety of vocal intonations and can adopt accents at will, including the ability to speak a wide array of languages to fit his user's needs._
> 
> _Sweetheart's top of the line software is able to extensively sense the environment it's in, translating what he sees and hears into data that allows him to experience life alongside his user, incorporating recorded "memories" with the user to allow his personality to change over time._

_Jesus._ They really did model this thing after Bucky. Steve had his suspicions before, but now? There’s no denying it. 

Steve grits his teeth, suddenly experiencing a sharp stab of possessiveness wash over him. He doesn't like their proud declaration at the bottom of the page, proclaiming that over 500,000 units of the Sweetheart model have been sold since its debut a month prior, and that customer satisfaction is at an all-time high of 98%. 

Sweetheart may be just a digital iteration of the man he loves, and he may be crazy for thinking this way but… to him, this _is_ Bucky. _His Bucky._ And Bucky has and _always_ will belong to Steve.

He sighs, shaking his head. He can't afford to let the line between fantasy and reality blur that much already, and placing Sweetheart on the same pedestal as the Bucky that only exists in his memories is a surefire way to see that Steve never returns from the path he's traveling down, but after seeing this, he’s not really sure if he can separate the two any longer.

Despite his reservations, Steve reads on, his lashes wet with unshed tears he hadn't realized he’d been trying to hold back until the words on the screen began to warp and blur.

> _Sweetheart is anything you want him to be, and with the addition of our latest product, Sweetheart can now go anywhere you want him to go._

Below the text is a slowly spinning 3D model of a matte black remote no bigger than an ordinary pen. 

> _Sleek and easily concealable, The Emanator is the perfect accessory for those go-getters on the move. Whether off-world or right here in your home, with a click of a button, wherever you go, Sweetheart will follow._
> 
> _The Emanator also allows Sweetheart to fully interact with his environment, solidifying his holographic form into a corporeal being with the ability to touch objects at will._

It sounds...nice, Steve thinks, and is subsequently horrified with himself for even feeling that way. Emanators are mostly used for pleasure models, turning what was once a companion into nothing more than a sex toy. He couldn’t even afford the add-on anyway, even if he wanted it. Granted, it costs a little less than what Steve would be paying for the home console and the ceiling-mounted projector that comes with the program. But the way Steve's funds are now, he’s lucky he even has enough to cover the bare necessities for the product to run.

Though, Steve can’t deny that it would be nice if Sweetheart _could_ touch him the way Bucky used to, or just occasionally give him a friendly squeeze on the shoulder, if nothing else. But perhaps it’s for the best if he doesn’t entertain that thought at all.

Steve steels himself, saving that moral dilemma for another day, and without another moment of hesitation, the credits are transferred and the transaction is completed, all in all, taking no more than ten minutes from start to finish.

In his gut, Steve feels a strange mixture of shame and satisfaction that he doesn’t quite know how to deal with, so instead, he seeks forgiveness for what he's just done, muttering a broken “forgive me, Buck,” then sighs when he predictably doesn’t hear anything in return. 

_“Thank you,”_ the system chirps, abruptly snapping Steve back into the present moment, _“We hope you’ll be satisfied with our product.”_

 _I do too,_ Steve thinks as he walks away, listening to the kiosk noisily power down in his absence.

* * *

A man from SI drops by to deliver the home console and ceiling projector about an hour or so later, even going so far as to install them both so Steve wouldn’t fuck it up if he tried to install it himself. He didn’t miss the odd looks the technician gave him as he went about his business, undoubtedly recognizing who Steve was from the shit spray-painted on his front door before he even got a good look at him.

He knows how this comes across; that Captain America is some pervert that prefers his partners to be voiceless holograms he can dominate completely.

Of course, that’s not what this is about. 

He just wants to see Bucky again, but no one else knows about that, or would ever care to ask. They all just assume, make conjectures about him that hold no weight in fact, and at this point, he’s far too weary to even try and prove them wrong. So he stays silent, busies himself with tidying up his small apartment while the man quickly finishes setting things up.

When he’s done, the technician gives Steve a brief rundown on how to operate the system, and then without another word, he’s gone, leaving Steve alone with his racing thoughts and a pounding heart. 

He’s nervous, nauseatingly so, and he supposes that it’s only natural for him to feel this way due to the circumstances surrounding it.

With just one press of a button, a century’s worth of longing, pain, and grief that Steve's been trying to ignore will all come to the forefront at once. He tries to tell himself that whatever appears before him once he musters up the courage to press the damn button won’t be the same man he let fall from a speeding train in the goddamn alps all those years ago, that this version of Bucky won’t remember that or any of their shared past together, and that this is only a means for him to try and heal those gashes in his heart that still haven’t closed up in the century since Bucky's been gone, but none of that seems to help when in just a matter of moments the space between him and Bucky that's kept them apart for so long will be shortened to almost nothing.

Nevertheless, Steve wanted this, and it’s time for him to ultimately face what he's done and deal with the consequences.

He opens the front panel on the console, takes a deep breath in, and turns it on.

The first six notes of _Peter and the Wolf_ play cheerfully, and the projector on the ceiling lowers, casting tightly woven streams of light into the unoccupied space just in front of him.

It only takes a second for his form to solidify, and then he’s there, standing in the middle of Steve’s living room as if he’d never left this world to begin with.

Their eyes tentatively meet across the way, stormy grey mixing with ocean blue, and Steve’s already tattered resolve crumbles like a sandcastle caught in the tide.

 _"Bucky,"_ he chokes out, his vision suddenly swimming and body shaking so violently that his knees give out from under him. 

Sweetheart smiles at the sound of Steve's voice as if he recognizes it from before, his incorporeal form flickering like a candle in the wind, and Steve can’t take it anymore. A sob catches in his throat as he sinks to his knees. 

Sweetheart's smile slips from his pouty lips as he kneels before Steve, his hands coming up as if to tenderly cradle Steve's head in his palms. They pass right through him, of course.

Steve can't feel his touch. Can't smell the heady mix of pomade and cigarette smoke that clung to Bucky like a second skin, and it hurts his heart more than he can bear.

“Hi there, baby sweet,” Sweetheart coos, his soft voice hitting Steve like a slap to the face, “oh, how I’ve missed you."

**Author's Note:**

> Drop me a comment if you liked what you saw❤


End file.
